


Tightening the Chains

by Chichirinoda



Series: Chain Arc [2]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-27
Updated: 2009-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giriko wants something from Mifune, and as far as he's concerned, he's going to get it whether Mifune likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tightening the Chains

The web chamber was Mifune's least favourite place in Baba Yaga's Castle. He hated craning his neck to look up at Arachne, in all her spidery glory, perched in the centre of her web - both literally and figuratively. The psychological aspects of it were so obvious it made him ill, but he couldn't deny its power, either. He always felt a little bit smaller and more helpless when he looked up at her, feeling the stretch of his neck as he had to strain to meet her gaze.

Partly for that reason, when the inner circle was gathered together for a planning meeting, he usually hung back. He would lurk in the shadows, listening, watching, and only participating in the rare event his input was directly solicited.

So far today he was mostly watching Giriko, who had limped in after Mifune, and who had a suspiciously wide smile for someone who had gotten stabbed in the thigh with a screwdriver only the previous day.

Mifune's jaw still ached, but it was nothing compared to the burn of rage in his stomach when he saw Giriko swagger past him, his shark-like teeth glinting white as he smirked sidelong at him.

He watched the weapon suspiciously, wondering what possible reason he could have for looking so...pleased with himself.

Mosquito still hadn't shown up, and Mifune had settled in to wait for the small...whatever he was, when Arachne unexpectedly spoke.

"Mifune, approach me."

There was an edge of steel in her voice that made Mifune's blood run cold. But he straightened and walked forward, planting himself next to Giriko but well out of the psycho's reach and craning his neck to look up at her. "Yes, Arachne-sama?" he asked in a low voice, wondering what was going on.

This was the first time she had failed to wait for Mosquito before beginning, and the first time she had directly addressed him like this as well.

"You attacked Giriko yesterday," she said, opening her fan and looking at him archly over it, her heavy-lidded eyes filled with clear displeasure.

 _What the fuck?_ Mifune shot a savage look at Giriko, unable to believe the depths to which this disgusting man would sink. He had _tattled_ on him? And lied through his freakish teeth about what had happened, no doubt about that.

"It was not unprovoked, ma'am," he said stiffly. Dear god, the last thing he wanted to do was relate the full story to the witch. What could he say? 'He forced me to suck his cock so I had to stab him'? She wouldn't care. Why would she?

She was still looking at him in silence, and he struggled for some kind of explanation that wouldn't make him sound like a whiny bitch. "It was merely the result of a minor disagreement between us," he said finally. "I assure you it won't happen again."

The fan closed with a snap and she pointed it at him. "See that it doesn't," she said. "Let me make something clear, Mifune. Giriko has been mine for eight hundred years, and I reward such long-standing and unswerving loyalty." Her painted lips pursed in a smirk. "And I am well aware that your loyalty to me is worth less than dirt."

Mifune's heart was beginning to pound desperately. No, no, why was this happening? At the very least she was going to turn him and Angela out on the street, and where would they go that was safe?

There was only one thing he knew of that might work. He knelt down on the tiled floor and placed his hands on the floor in front of him, prostrating himself before her as if before an Emperor. The dirty taste of bile rose in his throat, but he bowed his face before the bitch as if she deserved his respect.

He heard a low, evil laugh rumble in Giriko's chest, and ignored it.

"Arachne-sama," he said. "Regardless of my personal reasons why I have given you my blade, it is _yours_. My honour depends upon me serving you, as I have sworn to do. Please do not dishonour me by questioning my oath."

He held the pose for a long, agonizing few moments, and then Arachne spoke again.

"You misunderstand me," she said, and her voice sounded bemused. "I never questioned your honour, Mifune."

Blinking, Mifune raised his head and started to get to his feet. "Arachne-sama, I'm not sure--"

"Stay on your knees, Mifune," Giriko said, his voice soft, but easily carrying up towards his mistress nevertheless.

He shot Giriko a disgusted look, but Arachne spoke again. "Yes, Mifune, do as Giriko tells you."

Stunned, Mifune froze, still slightly stooped in the act of straightening up from his kneeling position, looking incredulously up at Arachne. "Arachne-sama, I don't--"

"Did you misunderstand my words, Mifune?" Arachne purred. "I said do as Giriko says. I think that should be quite clear."

Mifune felt a flush rise to his cheeks as he let gravity drop him down to his knees once more. He heard the clumping sound of Giriko's boots approaching and felt a hand fall onto his shoulder. A calloused thumb rubbed Mifune on the side of his neck, and he struggled to hold completely still.

He knew Giriko would be able to feel his body trembling with rage and would think it was fear.

There was a long, long pause, so long that Mifune was sure he was being tested in some way. Was he passing or failing? Should he draw his sword and cut Giriko down to prove his strength, or should he remain obedient and prove his loyalty to Arachne's orders, however unpalatable?

The sick feeling in his stomach told him he was passing by remaining exactly where he was, and that was confirmed after a few torturous minutes.

"There now," Arachne murmured. "I knew you could understand. As I was saying, I reward loyalty such as Giriko's, and he's made only one request of me in all of his years of service."

 _Oh god,_ Mifune resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut like a child. He couldn't bear this. He couldn't!

He had to, for Angela's sake.

 _Please don't say what I think you're going to say._

"He's requested you," Arachne finished in a soft purr. "And frankly I can't fault his taste."

Hatred rose in Mifune's throat, closing it so tightly he could scarcely breathe. That thumb was still running back and forth over his pulse-point, the fingernail scraping a little. It would have felt pleasant if it weren't so horrible.

He had to speak. He _had_ to. Somehow he managed to force a couple of words out. "What are your orders, Arachne-sama?"

"Only what you've just proven you can do," Arachne said. "Do as Giriko tells you, no matter what it might be. And don't let me hear that you've done anything childish like stabbing him again. Do I make myself clear?"

Mifune's voice sounded as hollow as he felt. "Yes, Arachne-sama."

* * *

Mifune remained kneeling on the floor for the rest of the audience, Giriko's hand still resting possessively on his shoulder. Mosquito had shown up shortly afterwards, and cast him a curious glance before giving his report.

Finally, after several humiliating lifetimes, during which Mifune repeatedly questioned his conviction that this was the only place that was safe for his charge, Arachne finally declared the audience over.

Giriko followed him out of the web chamber, not saying anything as they walked, and remaining a couple of metres behind, as if it were only coincidence that they were walking in the same direction.

But when Mifune reached a particular fork in the corridor, Giriko sped up and caught him by the arm. He knew that taking the righthand corridor would lead him to Giriko's suite, while his own lay towards the left, and Giriko caught him just as he was about to turn in the direction of his own chamber.

Reluctantly, Mifune stopped. He stared fixedly at the wall directly ahead of him, his lips pursed and teeth grinding on the needle in his mouth. It would come now.

"Ten o'clock tonight, come to my place," Giriko said in a low voice. "Don't be late."

So he would have a few hours, then. Ah, the joys of anticipation.

"Understood," he said, jerking his arm roughly out of Giriko's grasp.

He turned to the left and started walking, but Giriko called after him. "Don't bring your swords. You won't need them."

Mifune seriously doubted the truth of that statement, but there was nothing for it but to obey. He glanced over his shoulder, giving Giriko a contemptuous look. The weapon raised his chin defiantly, his eyes narrowing with anger at the implication that he was afraid. Quickly, the weapon turned and limped away, and only then did Mifune continue on.

Arachne hadn't said he had to be _polite_.

* * *

Mifune wanted to show his contempt for Giriko by showing up late, but he didn't quite dare. He knew Giriko would probably go running straight to Arachne and tell her that he was disobeying his orders, or had killed all of his favourite houseplants, or something, and then Arachne would do something even worse. Though his imagination balked at trying to come up with something that could be worse than this.

No, he could push the boundaries, but he would have to be careful not to cross them. Certainly not yet.

So at thirty minutes to ten he tucked Angela into her bed, with her favourite plushie newt, and read her a story. At fifteen minutes to ten he finished the story and turned off the lights, giving the sleeping girl a soft kiss on the forehead, and stealing out of the room.

He locked her in and hoped she wouldn't awaken anyway, since if she wanted a glass of water badly enough she was fully capable of using magic to get out.

At ten minutes to ten he unbelted his sword and propped it against the wall right next to the door, and even put his needle away in its case. He felt completely naked as at five minutes to ten he walked out of the room, disarmed.

At one minute to ten he stood in front of Giriko's door and knocked.

There was a clattering sound and then the sound of boots clomping across the room before the door was yanked open. Giriko stared at him as if he'd forgotten Mifune was coming. He had a strangely wild look about him and he smelled strongly of whiskey again.

"So you decided to show up," he said. "About fucking time."

"I'm early," Mifune said coldly. Giriko blinked and turned away to glance at a clock on the wall, looking startled.

"Hmph, one minute early isn't early," he said contemptuously, and stood back. "Get in here."

Mifune stepped past him and heard the metal door clang shut once again, sounding even more like a death knell than it had the day before. What would the torture be like today? He doubted that it would be a simple blowjob, since Giriko was angry with him now for the incident with the screwdriver.

Trying to distract himself and remain outwardly impassive even though his heart was pounding, Mifune looked around the room once again as if it were the first time. Oddly, it looked as if Giriko had made some effort to clean up. The floor was free of liquor bottles, except for one half-empty one on the floor next to the golem hand that Mifune recognized vaguely. Giriko had kicked it aside the day before. The hand now had an arm attached to it.

Much of the other debris had also been cleared away, though Mifune could still see stray bolts and other bits of flotsam in the corners and poking out from under furniture. It was hard to be sure that the room been cleaned, actually, because there were still tools strewn around the couch. But there was a curious feeling of order about that area. Mifune suspected that Giriko had actually been working, and that was the reason for the tools being placed that way.

Giriko stepped into his line of vision, interrupting his wandering thoughts. The weapon had walked around him, as if inspecting a piece of machinery from all angles before deciding to purchase it.

Mifune glared at him.

"Take off your shirt," Giriko said, smirking. "I don't think you need that, either."

Resentfully, Mifune reached for the top button of his shirt and began to undo them one by one. He didn't bother to hurry. He wasn't interested in giving Giriko gratification, and his only hope now was that the weapon would get bored of him and leave him alone at some point in the future.

But his tactic seemed to have backfired. Giriko watched with a curious expression on his face, staring fixedly at his chest as Mifune undid the buttons.

As Mifune shrugged out of the shirt and let it fall, Giriko gave a soft whistle. "Oh yeah, fuck, strip for me why don't you. You're such a fucking whore, Mifune," he said.

Mifune froze, feeling a flush rise in his cheeks. He hadn't meant to give that impression at all!

Struggling for composure, he spoke coldly. "Was that an order?"

Giriko's eyes were still fixed on his torso, though they had dropped to somewhere around his navel now. At his words, they jerked upwards. "Huh? Was what an order?"

Mifune's lip curled. "Were you ordering me to strip?"

Giriko looked blank for a moment, and it was obvious he was reviewing his last few statements. "Ah, no, no, that's okay," he said hastily. Then he seemed to remember himself and waved a hand contemptuously, smirking predatorily. "Not _yet_ , anyway. I know you can't wait, but I don't want to let the festivities end too fast tonight."

Mifune didn't like the sound of that, but he felt like he'd at least won a minor battle by throwing Giriko off. He lowered his arms to his sides and stood as impassively as he could muster, as if he were merely bored and couldn't care less what Giriko wanted.

Giriko gazed at him for another few seconds. "Yanno, I thought you'd be a lot more scarred up," he remarked suddenly. He reached suddenly for Mifune and the samurai had to resist the urge to block the hand or flinch. He felt Giriko's fingertip touch and trace the line of a scar over one of his ribs and he clenched his teeth with the effort not to react.

"I'm good," he said simply, wondering if Giriko were disappointed or something.

There was a pause, and then Giriko spoke in a self-satisfied tone. "Yeah, you are."

He turned away abruptly, plunking himself down on the couch and grabbing up the bottle on the floor. He upended it and drank another few swallows, then gestured to Mifune. "C'mere. Kneel on the floor, right here," he ordered, pointing to a spot just to the left of his feet.

Grinding his teeth, Mifune obeyed, moving across the room and kneeling smoothly, lowering himself into seiza. He wasn't sure what Giriko expected of him from here. It would be awkward at best to suck him off from an angle, but he told himself he didn't care, that it didn't matter; he just needed to endure this for now.

Though Mifune instantly discovered that he hated looking up at Giriko from a kneeling position even more than he hated looking up at Arachne.

But Giriko didn't seem interested in getting a blowjob from Mifune right now. He reached down and grabbed up the golem arm he'd been working on. "Pass me the needle-nose pliers," he said.

Bemused, Mifune reached for the tool Giriko had pointed at, and handed it up to him. This was what Giriko wanted him for? To be a half-naked assistant?

In fact, for a while it seemed as if that was _precisely_ what Giriko wanted. The machinist worked in silence, his eyes fixed on the arm and scarcely glancing over at Mifune at all. Every so often, he'd ask for another tool, or pass the one he was finished with back to Mifune to lay on the floor.

Even more strangely, once in a while, Giriko would reach for Mifune directly, and the samurai tensed, but each time he only brushed fingers through his long hair, or rested his hand on his shoulder for a while, rubbing the side of his neck with his thumb, while he worked one-handed on his project.

It was nothing short of bizarre.

Mifune had to bite his lips to stop himself from demanding to know what he was playing at. This anticipation was, in many ways, worse than the actual act would be. Was Giriko trying to merely keep him here all night, show him how unimportant Mifune was? Why had he had gone out of his way to point out that Mifune was to obey his orders, and then not actually bother to give him any?

It was like psychological warfare, and as the minutes ticked by, Mifune's stomach clenched tighter and tighter.

Finally he couldn't stand it another moment. "If you don't need anything from me, may I have your permission to go back to my chamber?" he asked through gritted teeth.

He had hoped to knock Giriko off-balance again, but the weapon merely looked up at him and smirked. "Why, you bored?"

"Shouldn't I be?" Mifune replied caustically. "I'm not a doll. I like to be active."

That had been the wrong thing to say. Giriko's smirk widened until Mifune could see nearly all of his teeth. "You like to be active, huh?" he said. He set the arm reverently aside on the couch and faced him. "Here I thought you'd like being off the hook for once, just giving me a hand. But I guess you're just a bit too eager."

"I'm not eag--" Mifune started, but Giriko fisted a hand in his hair and dragged him upwards as he got to his feet. Mifune clamped his teeth around a cry of pain as several hairs parted ways with his scalp, and barely managed to get to his feet before Giriko dragged him bodily towards the bedroom.

"No, stop!" Mifune cried before he could stop himself. "I don't want--"

"I thought you got the message," Giriko snarled. He sounded angry. "I don't give a _fuck_ what you want."

Mifune struggled to get ahold of himself as Giriko dragged him into the bedroom and towards the bed. Protesting wasn't going to get him anywhere, and from the anger in Giriko's voice, the weapon was pissed off enough without giving him an excuse to run to Arachne and tell her that Mifune still wasn't obeying orders promptly enough. Why was he so angry all of a sudden? Was he really pissed that Mifune wasn't enraptured by the idea of spending hours passing him tools, or was it just an act?

"Grab onto that," Giriko snarled, shoving Mifune towards the bed and finally releasing his hair.

"Onto what?" Mifune asked, utterly confused. Giriko wanted him to grab onto the bed?

With an impatient huff, Giriko grabbed Mifune's hand and yanked it towards the headboard, which had large posts at the corners and a half-dozen horizontal slats in between. Mifune's hand touched one of the posts and he encircled it with his fingers, bemused, as Giriko let go of his wrist.

"Both hands," Giriko said.

Now Mifune was starting to get an inkling of an idea of what Giriko was getting at, but he reached out reluctantly and grabbed onto the top of the post with the other hand as well, his heart beginning to pound again in earnest.

Giriko smirked. "Yeah, that's better. You're gonna love this. Hold still."

 _No, I don't want to,_ Mifune thought, going rigid anyway. Giriko reached out again and grasped him by both wrists, and Mifune felt the cold of a chain against his skin. The chain started to move and Mifune pulled his hands away reflexively, images of spattering blood filling his mind.

But his hands stopped short after only an inch, and Giriko laughed uproariously as he let go of Mifune. To Mifune's fresh horror, he realized that instead of cutting his skin, Giriko had been _chaining_ his wrists to the headboard.

"I never saw anyone so bad at following orders," Giriko mocked him, tangling his rough fingers in Mifune's hair again. This time he didn't pull, fingering the hair in something like a caress that made Mifune's skin crawl.

The samurai stared at the chains, hating Giriko with every fibre of his being. They looked like chainsaw chains, of course, and were looped a couple of times around each wrist, as well as the solid-looking post, like an ouroboros with no beginning or end. The chain ran between the top two horizontal slats, so that it couldn't slip up or down more than an inch. There was no way he could get free.

"Yanno," Giriko said, leaning closer and speaking into Mifune's ear. "I kinda like that look on you. How about you wear those like bracelets from now on, and a matching one around your neck. Pretty, huh?"

"No." Mifune's voice came out a strangled rasp. He wanted to scream at Giriko, to order him to release him, to explain precisely how he was going to kill him and how long it would take. He had _never_ felt so close to losing it completely in his entire life, and he shook with the effort of keeping the words inside.

"Well, maybe you'll change your mind," Giriko said smugly. "Before I'm done with you, anyway."

"You are...the foulest thing..." Mifune whispered, scarcely able to form coherent sentences, his rage was so deep and all-consuming.

"Yeah, yeah," Giriko said, giving Mifune's hair a tug that didn't hurt so much as remind him of the pre-existing pain in his scalp, and straightening up. He released the samurai and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Mifune fully expected Giriko would be back shortly, could only think of this as a brief reprieve, so he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He had to centre himself. Rage and fear were so close together, and he couldn't afford to lose control like this, not even for a moment.

The counted breaths helped immensely, and he felt calmer by the time he heard footsteps once again. He opened his eyes, turning to see Giriko limping back into the room, whiskey bottle in hand.

"Sit," Giriko said, pointing at Mifune with the butt of the bottle. The amber liquid inside sloshed as he gestured. It still looked about a third full.

Mifune sat on the edge of the bed. This forced his arms awkwardly to the side, but there was nothing he could do about that. He glared up at Giriko.

The weapon considered him, then pointed the bottle at him again, mouth-first this time. "Open up," he said.

Mifune stared at the open mouth of the bottle as if it contained poison. "W-what--" he began, but Giriko shoved the bottle into his mouth and his teeth clacked on glass. The bottle was tipped up and liquid gushed into his mouth, too fast to swallow easily. Mifune struggled to swallow the first rush and it burned down his throat, harsh as turpentine. More ran down his chin as he coughed and sputtered, and Giriko pulled the bottle away before he could choke.

"I want ya to fuckin' drink it, not drown in it!" Giriko snapped angrily, as if Mifune was doing it on purpose.

"S-sorry," Mifune said, and immediately regretted the word. The last thing he should be doing was apologizing to this piece of shit. But it was out and perhaps it would help a little, anyway. "It was too fast."

Giriko glared at him through narrowed eyes as Mifune caught his breath, then offered him the bottle again. "You're drinkin' this," he said, as if explaining something to a small child. "All of it."

Mifune leaned away a little. "Why?" he asked, trying to get the word out and close his mouth again before Giriko could shove the bottle between his lips again.

"Because I _said_ so," Giriko snarled. "And because you need to loosen the fuck up."

Mifune's lips thinned as he considered this. He didn't have a realistic choice, but this seemed very odd and suspicious to him. Had he drugged it? Did it matter?

Slowly, reluctantly, he straightened up again and glared at Giriko again. "Just go slower," he said sharply, then opened his mouth.

"'Just go slower'," Giriko mocked him again. "Fuckin' pussy." He shoved the bottle between his lips again before Mifune could think of a retort. "You'd think you'd be used to havin' your lips wrapped around something like this, anyway, havin' to swallow what's given to you," Giriko went on.

The rage was a slow burn at this comment. Mifune was feeling calmer now, not as nettled by the degrading things Giriko insisted on saying about him. He glared heatedly up at Giriko, but didn't feel like screaming anymore as the other man tipped the bottle upwards.

This time the liquor didn't gush out as quickly and Mifune was able to swallow it without it choking him. It still burned his throat, making him want to cough, but he held it back as best he could until the last few drops fell onto his numbed tongue and Giriko finally pulled the bottle away and tossed it aside carelessly. It rolled into the corner and joined a couple of its fellows with a series of soft clinks.

Mifune coughed and closed his streaming eyes, struggling to breathe. He felt the mattress shift and realized Giriko had sat down beside him.

The weapon's fingers found their way into his hair once more and stroked, making Mifune shiver and hunch his shoulders. He felt dizzy and his throat was raw. Tears had run down his cheeks and he couldn't wipe them away because his hands were chained up.

Giriko wiped Mifune's cheeks with his thumbs, and the samurai flinched. They weren't tears of fear, or sadness, but merely a physical reaction to the coughing fit.

He felt humiliated, anyway.

"Yanno," Giriko said softly. "If you weren't so pissed at me, you know...if you were nicer to me, I wouldn't have to be so mean to you."

Somehow Mifune found it in himself to snort derisively at this ridiculous statement. Did he really think such an obvious and pathetic piece of emotional manipulation would work on him?

"I wasn't the one who started this," he replied. His voice sounded raw to his own ears.

"Yeah well," Giriko said roughly, sounding strangely defensive. "Now you're in this situation, right? And you might as well make the best of it."

Mifune opened his eyes and turned a look at Giriko that was filled with as much hate as he could muster - which was a considerable amount. The world was trying to revolve around him as the liquor started to hit, but he focussed his eyes on the object of his utter and complete loathing and let Giriko see it.

"If you think I'm going to make this easier on you, you piece of dog shit," he hissed. "You are sadly mistaken."

To his intense satisfaction, he saw Giriko recoil, actually physically shift back at the force of the emotion in Mifune's eyes. Unfortunately, he rebounded quickly.

"Make it easier on me?" he scoffed. His hand was back in Mifune's hair and Giriko pulled sharply, forcing his head back until his throat was stretched in a tight line. "You think I fuckin' need that? I was just trying to make it easier on _you_."

Giriko gave a harsh shove, and released him. He was even dizzier than before, and he knew that the alcohol was really hitting him now. "Get on your fucking knees," Giriko growled, and it was all Mifune could do to get his feet under him, to kneel on the mattress that felt like it was going to wobble and tip him off. He clung to the bedpost now with his fingers, leaning his heated forehead against the cool wood.

Giriko's hands grabbed him by the hips, shifted him into the position he wanted, and Mifune couldn't find it within himself to resist. The machinist's calloused hands played lightly over his spine, then reached around to undo his fly and pull his pants down.

"No..." Mifune murmured muzzily in protest, but Giriko ignored him, pulling the pants and underwear off and leaving Mifune kneeling bent over and completely naked to his eyes and hands.

"You belong to me," Giriko said roughly. "And you'd better get used to it, because I'm not gonna let you forget it."

The alcohol had a hold on Mifune's tongue. "Stop," he moaned. "Stop this. I'm not...I'm not like you think."

To his surprise, Giriko was listening to what he said. "What are you talking about?"

"I never did anything like this with my sensei," he said. In his alcoholic daze, it seemed important that Giriko understand, as if that would make a difference. "I never did. It's not true--ah, what are you doing?"

Something cool and slick was worming into his body and he writhed to get away from it, but there was nowhere to go. As it curved and pushed deeper, he realized that it was Giriko's finger and he had covered his hand with some kind of lubricant. His heart pounded, but his head was also floating, and things were starting to seem more and more remote, far away, unimportant. Maybe the alcohol hadn't been a bad idea.

For a long moment, Mifune thought Giriko wasn't going to respond to what he'd told him. He worked that digit in and out of Mifune's unwilling body for a few seconds, and then wormed a second one in with the first. Mifune gasped and bit his lip until blood ran down his chin. He couldn't decide if he should just let go, sink like a coward into the alcoholic haze, or fight it and suffer needlessly.

But then Giriko spoke. "Yeah well...so what?" he asked, in a strange, defensive tone. "Not like I care. I just made that shit up."

Mifune had known that, of course. "I'm not a whore," he said anyway, his voice strained. It was hard to form coherent sentences. "I've never...never given a blow job before yesterday. I've never done _this_ before."

Giriko made a scoffing sound. His fingers scissored open and Mifune cried out involuntarily. "You tryin' to tell me that you're a fuckin' _virgin_?" He started to laugh. "Don't give me that shit. That's crazy! I don't believe it."

Mifune shook his head and it swam dizzyingly. The things Giriko was doing with his fingers hurt, but they were starting to feel good as well, and his body shifted against his will, no longer trying to squirm away. "No, no, I'm not a virgin. I've been with women," he allowed. "A couple of times."

"A couple of--" Giriko's hand paused. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

The samurai was starting to feel more than a little defensive. "No, I'm not...not kidding you."

There was a short, stunned pause, and Mifune struggled desperately to try to divine what Giriko was thinking. But there was no way he could understand this man. How could he understand someone who thought this was acceptable behaviour? Someone who hated the world so much? Who had sacrificed an unknown number of his own children to extend his life for eight centuries?

Giriko was _insane_ \- Mifune had come to that conclusion long before this hell had begun - and they had no common ground.

Then, slowly, Giriko's fingers started to move inside Mifune once more. A low, helpless groan was ripped from Mifune's throat before he could repress it, and he squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. Nothing he said was going to make any kind of difference, so why had he even tried? It was better not to tell this man anything about himself - he'd only use it against him in some way, or ignore it.

Giriko shoved Mifune's legs apart with a few nudges of one knee. "Well," he said, with a strange sort of finality, as if he'd come to some very important decision. "I'll make it good for ya."

Miserable, Mifune pressed his cheek against the cool wood. He felt feverish. His body shifted against his will, reacting to the penetration, which was too intense to feel good, and yet was oddly pleasurable all the same.

"Relax," Giriko murmured after a few moments, which of course only made Mifune tense even more. The fingers scissored open wide again, and Mifune made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "I said relax!"

"I can't," Mifune gasped.

"You're gonna relax, or I'm gonna fuckin' hurt you!" Giriko snarled. Mifune felt his insides twist and clench, and he hated himself for the fear he felt. Would it be a beating, now? Punishment for disobedience to an order he had no hope of obeying? How could he relax in this situation?

Cursing, Giriko reached around and took Mifune's flaccid cock in his other hand. Mifune made another rough sound of protest. "I said I'd make this good," Giriko growled, almost under his breath as he started to stroke.

"No... _no, stop,_ " Mifune breathed. He didn't _want_ to enjoy it. The thought was repellent. He just wanted this to be over.

"I _ain't_ gonna fucking stop," Giriko growled. "So stop asking."

As Giriko stroked him, sending shocks of pleasure through his body, Mifune finally drew a ragged breath and went inside himself. He surrendered to the alcohol, let the haze wash over him, let out the breath and thought about other things. He wrapped those things around him like a blanket, and willed himself away.

He thought about the brief moment of happiness, when he'd found a place for himself and Angela to live, and it had seemed that they would be safe. Safe and alone, and he was doing something he felt was worthwhile. Instead of working for criminals and thieves, he was protecting a little girl who needed him. A little girl who loved him unconditionally.

He thought of Angela, of his deep, heart-hurting love for that little, helpless girl.

Giriko's growl of satisfaction as Mifune's body finally began to relax seemed distant and far away. The hand on his cock sped up as his body awakened, and Giriko thrust a third finger inside him. Mifune's body felt numb and light, and his mind was consumed by the image of that little girl. That girl who made all of this worth it, if only she could be kept safe from harm.

But when Giriko pulled his fingers suddenly from Mifune's body, the surprise brought him back to himself. He lifted his head and twisted to look, and saw Giriko opening his own pants and pulling his cock free from the confining fabric. He was hard and flushed, like the day before, obviously aroused by what he was doing to Mifune.

Mifune struggled not to tense up, but he knew he was failing when Giriko pressed his cock against his stretched entrance. He let out a strangled cry as he felt the member push deep into him, so thick he was sure he'd split in half.

Giriko grabbed him by the hip with a bruising grip, holding Mifune steady as he penetrated him. The other hand curled around Mifune's own cock and stroked, keeping him hard. Mifune's felt himself flush with shame at the betrayal of his own body, as he gasped and moaned and his member stiffened even further in Giriko's grasp.

The pain was bad, but he was used to pain as well, and as Giriko buried himself fully inside him, it started to lessen immediately. It was slowly replaced by a deep, hot burn of pleasure in the pit of Mifune's stomach.

"Oh yeah..." Giriko murmured, and his voice sounded strained now. "Yeah, fuck...fuck you're so tight, Mifune. You weren't kidding that you haven't done this before."

Mifune swallowed a whimper as Giriko rolled his hips, the movement sending a wave of pleasure through him.

"Fuck yeah." Giriko pressed a trembling kiss between Mifune's shoulder blades, the first time Mifune had felt the press of Giriko's lips. His sharp teeth scraped in the kiss's wake, stinging. "Fuck, you really are mine now. No one but me's ever had this ass, and no one ever will."

Good lord, he was depraved. Mifune closed his eyes and suppressed another whimper, but he couldn't stop the cry that bubbled up in his throat as Giriko pulled his hips back and then thrust forward again.

Giriko quickly built to a harsh and fast rhythm, his hand mirroring the pace on Mifune's cock, and which ripped harsh gasp after soft cry from Mifune's lips. Again, filthy words fell from Giriko's lips as he fucked the samurai hard, one hand still holding him steady so he could drive into him again and again.

"Fuck yeah, Mifune, fuck... so good, so _fucking_ tight. I know you like it, I love those sounds you're makin', _god_ you're so good, yeah..."

Mifune couldn't go inside himself again, and it seemed that the sensations had driven most of the alcohol out of his system, lifting much of the fog. His mind felt sharp and clear now, and he felt every thrust, heard every word that Giriko said, heard every sound his _own_ throat gave voice to, and now that he was crying out he couldn't seem to stop.

Every thrust rubbed against something inside him that sent a pulse of pleasure through him so intense he couldn't have imagined his body had such a thing inside it. It was that which so quickly broke down the last of his shaky defences and pulled cries out of him that rapidly built towards screams.

If he hadn't been so overwhelmed, he would have felt horrified that he orgasmed first - or at all. He jerked roughly as his body began to spasm, and he felt the chain bite harshly into his wrist and jingle as he lost his grip on the post he was chained to. He let out a scream that tore at his ravaged throat, and heard Giriko give a wordless shout of pleasure.

Fluid spattered over Giriko's blanket, and the weapon pulled his hand away from Mifune's cock almost immediately. Mifune felt him grab ahold of his other hip with that hand and hold him tightly, thrusting forward into his spasming body with violent abandon. Just as the waves of pleasure started to abate, Mifune felt Giriko stiffen in turn and thrust even more deeply into his body.

With Giriko balls-deep inside him, Mifune felt the other man tremble and heard him cry out, then felt a rush of warmth as fluid flooded into his body.

No sooner had Giriko climaxed, but he pulled out of him and rolled away, dropping onto his back beside Mifune, who had regained his grip on the post and was still trembling with the aftermath. Mifune was uncomfortable and stiff, his back ached and his lower body throbbed. He was tired of being hunched over on his knees, but he couldn't really move, either.

Giriko panted with his lips parted and his eyes closed. Mifune couldn't help but watch him, struggling to catch his breath and regain his composure before Giriko turned his attention upon him again. But only a moment later, Giriko opened his eyes lazily and saw Mifune staring at him.

"Y'look uncomfortable," he drawled, his lips spreading in a smirk.

"I wonder why," Mifune hissed. His voice was a rasp, and it hurt to talk. He wondered how loudly he'd been screaming, or if it were just because of the alcohol that had been forced down his throat.

"I'll let ya lie down if ya ask me nicely," Giriko said, the smirk widening.

Mifune closed his eyes and prayed for control. Why did every word out of this monster's mouth have to make everything worse for him? He'd already been raped and humiliated, did he have to be degraded even further before he could be released?

He opened his mouth and shaped the words. "Please," he whispered. "Unchain me."

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Giriko murmured. He reached out and touched the chain, and it snaked around Mifune's wrists. He felt them release from the post, but the chains were still wrapped around, and he opened his eyes to look down. He now wore two matching bracelets, made of chainsaw chain, and he could see at a glance they were far too tight to be slipped off. Giriko was apparently intending to carry out his threat from earlier.

But there was nothing he could do about it now, and he lowered his hands to the bed, finally relieving the pressure on his back. He shifted to lie down on his side, avoiding the mess on the covers, with his back to his tormenter, but Giriko grabbed him by the arm.

"Facing me. Lie down facing me, against me," he said tersely.

Dully, Mifune moved to obey. He stretched out on his side and, with a bit of further instruction from Giriko, wound up with his head pillowed on the other man's shoulder.

Once he was settled, Giriko held up his hand, which was shiny with Mifune's semen. "Lick it," he said. "Clean me off."

Would it never end? Giriko seemed constantly to come up with more and more things he wanted Mifune to do that were humiliating and degrading. Mifune was too drained - and frankly, still intoxicated - to make any effort to resist the order. He shifted his head forward and licked Giriko's hand, tasting the salty bitter taste of his own seed. He sucked on Giriko's fingers one by one, and licked his hand until it was clean.

"Yeah, that's right," Giriko said finally, when he'd finished. He caressed Mifune's cheek with the hand he'd just washed off, and Mifune felt the dampness of his own saliva left behind in its wake.

Then Giriko slid his hand around to the back of his neck again, and once more Mifune felt the cold of metal. He tensed, then felt the chain snake around his neck, and bit down on another whimper. He knew what Giriko was doing, and he wasn't surprised when Giriko removed his hand and the cold links of the chain remained against his skin.

"Think I'll leave off your ankles for now," Giriko murmured. "But if ya get uppity and I think you need it, I'll put them on. I wouldn't want ya to think you can run away, right? So just remember if you try, I'll chain your ankles together, too."

The weight of all of this was crushing. It was worse than the weight he had felt while working for the mafia. At least then he had been able to take some pride in what he was doing, even if it was a false pride. He had pride in his swordsmanship, even if what he was using it for was a stain on his honour.

There was nothing about this he could take refuge in.

"I won't try to run away," he muttered.

"Good," Giriko said, and he sounded _cheerful_. Mifune couldn't imagine anyone hating anyone so much as he hated this man.

Giriko fell silent then. One hand came to rest at the base of Mifune's spine, and his fingers moved lightly, a caress that made him want to shudder and made his skin want to crawl off his body. But other than that, Mifune was too drained to react. He just wanted to sleep, to take refuge in oblivion for a while. He suspected the alcohol had as much to do with that as the misery he felt.

Finally he spoke again, sensing that Giriko was on the edge of dozing off himself. "May I go back to my room?" he asked softly.

Giriko started and opened his eyes. So he had been dozing, after all. "Huh? No. Why should I let you do that?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with irritation.

But Mifune had an answer prepared. He only hoped it would be convincing. "Angela might get up in the night and find me gone," he said. "She might need me. I've locked her in her room, to keep her from wandering, but she could need to get out for some reason. I've already left her alone for so long."

He finished speaking and held his breath. It wouldn't surprise him for one moment if Giriko merely dismissed what he'd said in favour of precisely what _he_ wanted - which was clearly for Mifune to spend the night. In fact, the chances of him changing his mind after he'd already said no, regardless of the reasons, seemed vanishingly small.

But to his utter shock, Giriko nodded, though with obvious reluctance. "All right, fine. Go," he said grudgingly. "But you better be back here tomorrow, same time."

Just as Mifune's heart leaped, it sank again. Of course, tomorrow it would begin again. And what fresh horrors would Giriko have for him on that occasion?

But there was no sense in dwelling on that now. He was free for now, and he wouldn't waste another moment in this hell. He sat up and slid off the bed, getting stiffly to his feet. He felt Giriko's eyes on him, and as he glanced back towards him, he saw that the weapon's expression seemed resentful and irritable.

"Thank you," Mifune said, hoping that would help mollify him, fearing that he would change his mind. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Some of the irritation cleared and Giriko grunted. The other man rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. He was still fully clothed, and seemed to be intending to sleep that way.

Relieved, Mifune retreated to the outer room, retrieving his own clothing as he went. He dressed, feeling that his balance was still off and wondering how long it would take for the liquor he'd drunk to fully leave his system.

He didn't know what time it was when he stumbled back into his suite, and he didn't much care. He picked up his sword from where he had left it by the door and carried it into the bathroom with him. It leaned against the wall by the shower door while he took the longest, hottest shower of his life.

He considered burning the clothes he had worn to Giriko's, but instead dumped them into the hamper. He wrapped himself in a sleeping yukata, then carried the sword with him into Angela's room. She was still sleeping where he'd left her, curled up on her side like an angel, fast asleep.

He stretched out on the floor beside the bed, his sword under his hand. He had no pillow, no blanket, and he didn't care. He closed his eyes and passed out almost instantly, falling into a deep sleep, troubled by dreams.


End file.
